Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) (16 page)

“Sure would. If you were a villager. A Citizen, on the other hand, might find himself suddenly alone. Of course, with all the new spider guts in town, I’m sure you won’t have to worry about any attempt to get at the Fore’s food. So long as those eggs last, who would want to risk it? So long as they last.”

Don’t forget that this woman is usually full of bullshit.

But it was hard to ignore her words. They certainly made more sense than anything he had come up with.

“If I find out you’re lying to m
e
. . .”

“You’ll what?”

“People could die, Molly.”

“It’s okay,” she told him as she walked by, “Michael couldn’t handle me either.”

She left Aaron alone in the room.

“I hate that bitch,” he told the river.

“Where are Rick and Galen?” Ellen asked Arturus.

“They should be here in just a bit. We’ll head on down to Harpsborough as soon as they’re back.”

“I went exploring today,” she told him.

Arturus grunted. It reminded him of the grunt that Galen would give when he was pleased with something. Sometimes it surprised him how much he took after his fathers.

“Be careful not to get lost,” he warned, “but I like that you’re doing it.”

“I’m careful. I go a little farther each day. I mean to shoot the next corpse I see. Make you proud. Of course, you say it’s because you want me to be able to take care of myself,” she broke into a grin, “but really you’re just too lazy to come and kill them for me.”

Arturus laughed at that.

Ellen leaned over the table and saw the knights he had been working on. “What’s this?”

She held one of the white knights up first, and Arturus could see her eye through the clear portions of the milky glass. Next she held up a black knight. Arturus was proudest of the black ones, of the ashen colored glass with the trails of crimson running through it.

She placed the knights between them. Arturus’ fingers ran over the depression on the table’s edge.

“This is you,” she said, smiling, and pointing to the clearer piece. “My white knight.”

“The black one looks better,” Arturus said.

She brought her head down to the level of the table, looking at the darker piece. “Well,” she said, resting her nose on the woodstone, “I guess you were damned. I suppose you’d be the black one.”

Her nose twitched as she sat back up.

“I wasn’t damned, remember?” Arturus told her. “I was born here.”

“Yeah, sorry, I forgot about that.”

Ellen sat even farther back in her chair, looking shocked. The wooden legs scraped against the stone floor. “But then you never had a chance to go to heaven! That’s not fair.”

Arturus shrugged. “What’s so nice about heaven?”

“This is horribly wrong,” Ellen’s face was mask of worry. “I mean, what if you lead the good life down here? You’ll always be damned. Maybe you don’t have a sou
l
. .
.
I don’t know where you would have gotten one.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a soul,” Arturus said flatly.

She seemed deep in thought. “I guess it’s not so odd. I mean, everybody born in Iran goes to Hell too.”

“Why’s that? What’s wrong with Iran?”

“Turi, they don’t believe in Jesus.”

“Believing in Jesus is what gets you to heaven?” Arturus asked her.

“Of course it is, silly.”

“Did you believe in Jesus, in the old world?”

“Yes, but look, I wasn’t perfect, you know. Let’s talk about something else.”

Arturus shrugged his shoulders.

He heard a voice from outside. “Galen.”

And then another. “Rick. We’re coming in.”

“Ellen and Turi,” she reported for them in her high voice.

She stood up to leave. “I’ll wait outside.”

Arturus nodded.

She passed him the white knight. “And I’ll have you know,” she said, rubbing the hair on his head while she looked directly into his eyes, “that’s a very fine looking white knight.”

She left, smiling at him as she walked by the entering Galen.

“Well, what was that about?” Rick asked after they could hear her footsteps on the bridge.

“She just likes the knight, is all,” Arturus could feel a bit of flush coming to his cheeks.

“I don’t think so. I think she likes you.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter, though. I like Alice.”

“That’s usually the way of things.” Rick set his pack down by the table. “But you should consider her, at least.”

Arturus stood up. “I can’t think of anyone other than Alice. Ellen, she just doesn’t get along very well.”

“Not yet,” Galen observed.

Rick gave Galen a long look. “You’re not helping.”

“The boy can like who he wants,” Galen said, but then turned to Arturus. “Be careful, though. Ellen may joke about the knight on that table, but Alice really wants one. Beware of ambitious women.”

Rick had wandered behind the stone counter and was rummaging through the supply closet. “Can we not fill his head with misogynistic bullshit, please?” he called out over his shoulder. “It’s hard enough, the boy not having a mother. You don’t want him to grow up and hate women.”

“He seems to like them just fine,” Galen said. “But be careful nonetheless. Alice wants something. She wants to be placed on a pedestal.”

“She belongs on one,” Arturus said.

“No one deserves that, Turi, man or woman. A pedestal and a tower are very similar.” Galen looked to the knights on the table before continuing. “And there’s precious little difference between a knight and a dragon.”

The guards waved them into Harpsborough with little more than a customary greeting, although Avery gave Arturus an approving nod that he thought had to do with Ellen. He hoped the cross-armed guard wouldn’t go speaking to Alice about this.

He had never seen Harpsborough this crowded. Her citizens lounged about, many spooning bulbous green and black masses of spider guts into their mouths with their fingers. One man had chunks of the stuff running down his beard. Smoke rose from the kiln and from the stones above the still. Other woodstone fires burned at random intervals throughout the village. Some villagers were boiling their spider eggs, Arturus presumed, to make sure that they wouldn’t hatch. Here and there, jars of Mancini’s bloodwater lay about, their corking undone. The people were joking and laughing. He saw one couple feeding each other. Father Klein was walking amongst the fires, blessing the food, speaking with those he passed.

Arturus pulled the wide eyed Ellen through the mass of celebrating villagers.

“I didn’t know there were so many people here,” she said.

“I didn’t either.” Arturus was only half joking. “I guess since everyone’s fed, no one is gathering in the wilds.”

“It smells lik
e
. .
.
”

“Spider guts,” Arturus finished for her.

At least, he hoped that’s what the smell was.

He stopped by the kiln where he found Kylie working. The kiln was full of pots, and she had another batch ready to go.

“You look busy,” Arturus noted.

Kylie gave him a wide smile.

“People all of a sudden have food to store, and food to pay with. It’ll be a busy holiday for me. Who’s the girl?”

“I’m Ellen.” Ellen held out her hand.

“Citizen Kylie. Why Arturus, she’s such a pretty little thing.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ellen said.

The smell of the baking clay, Arturus noticed, was far preferable to the smell of boiling spider eggs. “Is Michael in?”

Kylie’s smile became even wider. “Our hero is certainly in residence. I think he’s drunk as a skunk, up in the Fore.”

“Thanks!” Ellen told her as they walked away.

Massan waved to Arturus as they moved to the Fore.

Ellen pinched her nose. “How can they stand it?”

“Better than being hungry.”

He spotted Alice and Molly by Alice’s hovel. He wished for a moment that Ellen wasn’t following quite so closely. He moved a little faster, hoping that a little distance would let Alice know that they weren’t together.

Arturus batted at the door tapestry which hung from the Fore, but no one answered. He could hear raucous laughter from inside.

“Can’t we go in?” Ellen asked.

“No, only Citizens are allowed in the Fore
without special permission.”

After a minute or so, John, a boy just slightly younger than Arturus, opened the tapestry. “Turi, may I help you?”

Ever since John had become the de facto servant for the Fore, he had started talking funny. Arturus tried to ignore it. “Yes, John, I’ve got a meeting with Michael.”

“I’ll see if he’s ready for you, Turi.”

Behind them a great shout came up from a group of hunters. One man was shaking his fist in the air while another was kissing his devilbone dice.

Ellen smiled. “They all look so happy.”

“See,” Arturus said, “Hell’s not all that bad. Though it’s not usually quite this nic
e
. .
.
”

John returned. “You can come on up, Turi.”

They started to enter.

“Not you,” John said to Ellen.

“Don’t worry,” Arturus told her. “I’ll be right back.”

She gave him a fake smile.

Ellen waited at the door to the Fore and did her best to look
like she belonged. She couldn’t help but fidget with her hair, though she stopped herself whenever she noticed she was doing it.

She didn’t appreciate the predatory looks she was getting.

Now why doesn’t Turi see me like that?

She looked over towards Alice, accidently making eye contact. She did her best not to give the girl a hard look. Who knew what Turi saw in her?

She’s not even that pretty.

As she looked away, she got an eyeful of an approaching man. He had a bit of a pot belly and, shocking her slightly, a missing hand.

“Hey, princess, whatchya waitin’ for?”

“Turi.”

“Turi?” The man seemed to have trouble focusing his eyes. “He’s not likely to come out of there.”

“I don’t see why not,” she said. “That’s where he went in.”

He nodded seriously for a moment, as if considering some deep philosophical thought. To her disgust, he rubbed what appeared to be a small fingernail growing out of the stub that was his hand.

She felt nauseous and looked down the side of the Fore to avoid looking at his deformity.

“You’re a fine sight. God was a fool to send you here, I’d say.”

He’s drunk.

She gave him a disapproving frown, but she doubted he even noticed.

He looked at her queerly. “You been here before?”

“Once. Turi is trying to get me to become a citizen.”

“A Citizen, hah! Lucky if you get to be a villager.”

“Whatever.”

He reached out with his stump hand and placed it on her shoulder. She did her best to avoid retching and looked him in the eye. She didn’t want to seem like a victim.

“Well, if you ever need anything, remember that I’m here to support you.”

“I didn’t bring my Elektra complex to town today.”

She had meant that to be some sort of stinging insult.

The man stared at her dumbly. “Ele-who? Look. Can I show you something?”

Oh, God.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Turi, I don’t even want to live in this stupid town. You get your butt back down here.

She watched the drunken one-handed man hurry off, but her fear transitioned quickly to bemusement when he returned. He had a clay urn cradled against his chest.

He handed it to her. “Look. Isn’t it pretty?”

She studied the beach scene, which was painted with colored dust.

“It goes all the way around, see? Isn’t the sky beautiful? ‘Cause it’s grey I pretend the top is the clouds. And do you see how the sun is on the water there? Turn it, it goes all the way around.”

She looked at the urn, slowly rotating it.

Simple, but beautiful.

“I never got to see the beach, you know,” he was saying.

She looked back towards him. He had seated himself while she was studying the urn and was leaning his back up against the Fore. She handed the clay pot back to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, you got to see it now,” she said.

He nodded glumly.

“Sometimes I think that I’d rather be just like ole Bense. Just sit here and stare at the urn. Nothing really so pressing, you know? It’s all going to happen to you sooner or later. Why not take it early, I say.”